Incomplete Revenge
by fanofkdc
Summary: Based on the 'Would You Like To Have Dinner With Me' scene from Playing with Fire Sara's reaction to another knock.
1. Chapter 1

TITLE: INCOMPLETE REVENGE

AUTHOR: fanofkdc

RATING: PG

SPOILERS: 'PLAYING WITH FIRE', INDIRECT REFERENCES TO 'TOO TOUGH TO DIE'.

CONTENT WARNING: G/S ANGST, ONE STRONG SWEARWORD.

DISCLAIMER: ALL CHARACTERS CONTAINED HEREIN ARE THE INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY OF ANTHONY ZUIKER AND CBS TELEVISION. NO INFRINGEMENT INTENDED.

SUMMARY: AFTER GRISSOM'S REJECTION, AND SEEING EVENTS IN A NEW LIGHT, SARA IS QUITE EXPECTEDLY PISSED OFF. BUT WHAT IS SHE GOING TO DO? AND WILL IT WORK?

Sara entered her apartment, seething and in a completely wretched mood. She couldn't believe the way Grissom had acted. _You are a complete and utter asshole, _she thought. '_You refuse my dinner invitation_, _and it's your fault that I got caught up in the explosion_. _If I hadn't have followed you, I wouldn't have been injured._ She paused her furious ruminations, if only to add a small, positive afterthought. _Then again_, _if I hadn't have been injured, you wouldn't have called me 'honey.' _She paused again, dissatisfied with her sentiments, and reminding herself of the negative aspects of being in Vegas. She had left people she cared about in San Francisco, doing so without question, all for Grissom, who hadn't paid so much as one speck of attention to her. He was the only reason she was here, and she had nothing left anywhere else. What made it worse was that now Grissom had rejected her, she had absolutely nothing. Not a ray of hope. Nada. Zilch. Not a sausage.

While these thoughts gathered velocity, negativity and forcefulness within her brain, she had managed to hang up her coat, take her shoes off, pick up her mail, and whisk herself off to the kitchen at tornado pace.

She opened the letters. No one important, just people wanting more things, like everyone else. Another thought embedded itself into her mind, and she began to wonder why it was she that made an effort to treat every victim separately, and make sure that justice was done. She almost killed herself working a triple shift, eating nothing and getting no sleep for sometimes three days until a case was solved. She was the only person out of the whole crime lab personnel who actually gave a damn about the victims. She was always left to reach out to others.

Sara was not usually one to become hopelessly depressed. Sure, she was like most people when something bad happened, but it was never anything a bottle of Jack Daniels or Smirnoff and couple of days in bed couldn't cure. There had been a time, about the end of her time at Harvard, when she became practically incurably depressed, when she was tried on medication such as Lithium, and Prozac, when it still known as Fluoxetine, for six months, and it had helped, so much that as soon as she felt better, she took herself off it. Suicide was something she had never really contemplated as a remedy, but now it appeared that she had nothing else to grasp onto, so self-destruction might as well be as good a resort as any.

She almost immediately abandoned the idea of suicide by a self-inflicted gunshot wound, as, like most women, she deplored using guns, even though she carried one, and, to a lesser extent, she was self-conscious enough to want an open casket. Besides, gunshot was too violent and loud and sudden, and also too messy. She wanted to slip away quietly, just as her life had done. So it would be up to the reliable pills in her medicine cabinet to help her. Although she never finished a course of medication if she was cured of her ailment before the pills were finished, she always kept the remainder, in case there was someone else who needed them. She didn't really care that it was against the law to use someone else's medication. People had committed greater crimes upon her, and gotten away with it. She didn't see why she would be punished for the lesser crime.

Sara entered her bathroom and rummaged through the cabinet, searching for at least two bottles of pills she could mix, making certain that she had the correct lethal cocktail to ingest. She found a blister pack of Rohypnol, not in itself dangerous, but if she mixed that with some . . . she found a full bottle of aspirin and a blister pack of Tylenol. Yes, along with a bottle of vodka she had kept but never opened, these should all do the trick.

Her plan would be to write a note to Grissom and leave it pinned to her door. He had said that he would come over that afternoon at one, so they could go over some paperwork regarding a bungled breaking-and-entering. As a sort of irony, Sara wanted Grissom to find her, so he could pay for the misery he had, if unknowingly, put her through. He would read the note on the door, and charge into her apartment to find her gone. She checked her watch. It was half past eleven, so she would definitely be gone by the time he got there.

She grabbed a glass and the bottle of vodka from the kitchen, and set them down in front of her on a table in the living room. She put the pills on the table and mashed them up, brushing the crumbs into the glass. She twisted the cap of the vodka and poured it in among the pills, waiting for a few seconds for the mixture to properly dissolve.

Sara took one last look around her apartment and raised her glass to a picture she had of Grissom presenting her with an award when he had taken a seminar at Harvard.

"Cheers," she said, before swallowing the mixture. She lay back on the couch and waited for her poison to kick in.

Grissom and Catherine pulled up into the parking lot outside Sara's apartment early. Grissom had told Catherine that Sara was expecting them at one, but Catherine wanted no arguments, as she had to get Lindsay ready for a party. Besides, Catherine had reasoned, _it's twelve now, and we're only an hour early. We can just surprise her and get this all over and done with_.

Grissom shared Catherine's thoughts, but _he_ wanted to try and delay seeing Sara for as long as possible. He knew he had hurt her feelings a lot when he refused her dinner invite, but she had gotten too close to him, and he was overwhelmed with his feelings for her.

Catherine and Grissom decided to walk the stairs to Sara's apartment. Catherine, being in the lead, was first to notice a white envelope pinned to the door.

"Hey, Gil," she called over her shoulder, "there's a note here, and it's addressed to you."

Grissom shrugged with his eyebrows, and took it off her. "Maybe she had to go out." He opened the envelope and took the letter out, scanning it quickly.

Catherine became very worried when she saw Grissom's eyes dilate. "What's it say?"

Grissom didn't answer straight away. Instead, he ducked down and peered through Sara's letter box. All he could see was the couch and a mop of brunette hair perched on a cushion at the near end of the furniture, and a bottle, two blister packs and an aspirin jar on the table next to the couch. He turned to look at Cath. "She's attempted an overdose." He ignored her shocked expression, and instead charged the door. It wouldn't budge. _Damn, the fucking thing won't move, and I gotta get in there._ He charged it again.

Inside her apartment, Sara could her a thud on the door. She had been on the couch for half an hour, and the pills were only making her feel a little drowsy. She sat up suddenly when there was a loud crash, and Grissom came stumbling through the broken door.

Sara grinned at him impishly. "Gee, I hope you're gonna fix that."

Grissom ignored the remark, and instead turned to Catherine. "Take a look at what Sara's taken and call nine-one-one."

Catherine didn't dare disagree, just rifled through the pill paraphernalia on the table, reaching into her pocket to pull out her cell phone.

Grissom kneeled down by the couch and brushed Sara's hair from her face. "However much you must hate me right now, and however much you don't want to, I'm gonna have to induce vomiting. Hopefully we might be able to get that stuff out of your system before your body's able to digest it." He didn't wait for an answer, and instead held out his hands to Sara. To his surprise, she took them, and he pulled her up, helping her walk through to the kitchen, where he hoped to find some salt and water that could induce vomiting.

Grissom stood with the doctor at the hospital. He had gone in the ambulance that arrived at the apartment, leaving Cath, who said she'd tidy up the apartment and set up a sleeping space for Grissom, who was unwilling to abandon Sara a second time.

The doctor stared at his clipboard and played with the hem of his lab coat. "For whatever reason, internal damage that could be caused by drugs such as the ones Miss. Sidle ingested has not been extensive."

Grissom smiled faintly. "Yeah, that sounds like Sara, tough thing she is."

The doctor nodded. "However, I do recommend that she stays off work for a week and rest. She will have stomach cramps for a couple of days because of the pump we had to do, so she needs to be weaned onto solids in three days. She mustn't take any medication for a week, just so her body can recover."

The dishevelled Grissom couldn't do anything except nod his had wearily and rub his stubbly chin. "Anything else? Would you recommend her receiving some kind of therapy?"

"It's not my place to say, I'm just a doctor. Obviously, in circumstances such as this, it would be advisable, whether it is a genuine suicide attempt or a cry for help. I just need you to sign her release forms."

A little while later, Sara and Grissom entered her apartment. Grissom felt he needed to take charge. "If you go and get ready, I'll just make sure everything here's okay. Call me when you're done, and I'll come in and tuck you in."

Sara felt like telling him that she wasn't a little child, but considering as he hadn't had any sleep in almost a day, and had gone with her to hospital, and generally saved her life, she figured it wouldn't be too polite. So she just nodded and got on with it.

Grissom was just checking his watch when Sara called him. He abandoned his pillow on the couch, and knocked on her bedroom door. When access was granted, he opened the door to see Sara lying in bed. He walked over and covered her up properly with the blanket, smoothing her hair from her face. "I'll be on the couch if you need anything, okay?"

Sara nodded. "Thank you. Goodnight." She turned over, and Grissom left the room.

It must have been about eleven at night when Sara woke up. She needed some water. She opened her bedroom door, and was making her way to the kitchen when a disembodied voice piped up.

"You couldn't sleep either?" It said.

Sara jumped in surprise. "Holy mother of God! Why aren't you asleep?"

"Not tired. Same with you?"

"I need some water. I'll sleep on the couch, it's too small for you."

Grissom chuckled. "I wouldn't expect you to reacquaint yourself with that thing."

"We could always share the bed."

Grissom considered it. "I'll join in a minute, just let me get your water."

The first thing Sara did when Grissom entered the bedroom was apologise. " I'm sorry for manipulating your feelings. What I did was wrong."

Grissom placed the water down on the bedside table. "Let's not talk about that now, we can discuss it later." He got into bed and hugged her. "I'm sorry for being a dick."

Sara snuggled up to him. "You're forgiven."

"I can't believe I almost lost you today."

"I thought you didn't want to talk about it now. If I'm not going to be in work for another week, I think we're going to have enough time to chat, don't you?" Sara closed her eyes. "Go to sleep Gil. You need all the rest you can get."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

INCOMPLETE REVENGE: CHAPTER TWO

For a moment, Sara panicked. She had woken up, and was wondering what Grissom was doing in the bed beside her. Then the memories of the past two days flooded back to her. The last thing she remembered was waking up to get a glass of water. She had walked into the living room, and Grissom was okay. He volunteered to get the water and keep her company. Panic over.

She looked at Grissom lying there, facing her. His head was resting on his right arm, and his left arm was draped over Sara's side of the bed. He looked angelic in the throes of sleep.

Grissom's eyes fluttered open, and he saw Sara gazing at him. His eyes closed and his mouth opened. "How did you sleep?"

"Much better with you there," Sara answered. "How about you?"

"That was the best sleep I've had in years. Seems holding someone close really is good to induce a sleep state." For some reason or other, he felt like flirting, despite the grave situation that had preceded this turn of events.

"Security, I guess," Sara agreed. Grissom did have a point. Knowing someone was there in the same bed did wonders for sending one off to sleep. Couples who had been married for a long time might say that was purely because their partner was so boring, and there was nothing to do, but they were either lying or too jaded.

"How do you feel today?" Grissom's question wasn't in the 'I-told-you-so vein,' he was genuinely concerned.

"There's still some gastrointestinal pain, and I'm a little tired, but considering the fact that I should by all rights be dead, I feel in pretty good shape." Sara laughed, somewhat self-consciously, and Grissom didn't know what to say.

"I'd say you're in pretty good shape, too," he tried.

Sara lowered her head. "Well, I have you to thank for that. You didn't have to do what you did, you know," she told him.

Grissom chuckled humourlessly. "Are you saying that you didn't want me to do what I did?" He looked at his hands. "I guess part of me knew that it was my fault. I'm pretty responsible for what happened."

"So you did it to appease your guilt?" Sara's tone was bitterly unsurprised. "Please tell me you didn't save me because you felt guilty, or sorry or whatever."

Grissom looked back up into Sara's eyes. "I didn't. I did it because I love you. And if I'd have said those words sooner, maybe we wouldn't be here now."

Sara was lost for words. "Well, in that case, you better not tell me you love me just keep me in this plane of existence."

Grissom let a small laugh pass by his lips. "If I told you I loved you, would it mean that you might be less inclined to try that trick again? You know that I wouldn't say it purely to keep you here. You, of all people, should realise that I don't say things I don't mean."

Sara nodded. "Does that mean that you've been interested in beauty since you me?" Grissom gesticulated his affirmation, and Sara continued. "Does that mean that the lab needs me?" Grissom picked up Sara's hand. "Not just the lab," he whispered. "Me. And I meant what I said about having you, I hope. Do I have you?"

Sara smiled. "Yes. All of me. What's mine is yours; it's always been like that. You've just never opened your eyes to see that." She stroked his hand with her thumb.

"Oh, I had my eyes open, alright," Grissom contradicted her. "I just never knew where to look. But we're here now, so I guess I did finally turn my head in the right direction."

Sara closed her eyes and tried to get out of bed, but that was quite hard, seeing as Grissom had hold of her hand. "We don't have to go anywhere today. We can just spend a little longer in bed, if you like."

Sara frowned. "If I sleep in any longer, I'll feel sick."

"Sleeping wasn't what I had in mind." Grissom caught the frown, and interpreted it incorrectly. "But you probably don't want to do that." He let go of her hand.

Sara reached for him. "No. I'd love to. I just wanted to be sure that you're ready for that. I don't want us to get close, and then when I wake up, I find out you've left without so much as a goodbye."

"God, no, Sara. I wouldn't. I can promise you that. I'd never reject you after that. That would be wrong. Look," Grissom sighed, and ran a hand over his face. All at once he looked both very young and very old. "I love you Sara. After what has just happened, I realise how close I came to losing you, and that wasn't a nice feeling. After I saw what life could be like without you, I felt like not carrying on. So I have no intention of letting you go."

Sara moved closer to Grissom. "Good. Because I have no intention of going anywhere." She kissed his cheek. "So, what do you want to do now?"

Grissom returned the kiss, but accidentally on purpose misjudged the distance, and his lips fell on her mouth. "Actually, to keep in a serious frame of mind, I was speaking to the doctor. In cases like this, whether it's a suicide attempt or a cry for help, counselling is recommended."

Sara pulled away from his lips. "I'll be honest with you. It _was _a suicide attempt, but that was before I realised that I _did _have something to live for. Now, I have no need for that sort of last resort. I just wanna put it behind me, and I'd appreciate it if you did, too."

"Well, I can respect your wishes," Grissom replied. "But I can't help but worry."

"If I were you, I wouldn't. I'm fine, I promise. But from now on, I should imagine that you'd be more able to see if there's a problem." She couldn't help but take a slight dig.

"Look, I know that I wasn't the most attentive boss or friend, but that's changed." His eyes darkened. "Okay?"

Sara nodded. "Man, I'm feeling hungry. So I guess I've got a chore for the _new _Grissom."

"What?"

"Pancakes."

"I feel my duty as the _new _Grissom would be to warn you of how that might affect your stomach. The doctor said you should be weaned on to solid foods after three days."

Sara grinned. "Just get me some syrup then. No? How about a herbal tea?"

"That's better."

"So am I. Thank you. For everything you've done. It means a lot to me."

Grissom smiled. "That's what 'New Grissom' is here for, honey." That word again. But this time it had a new meaning, just as had both Grissom and Sara. Everything would be new, and they only hoped that they would be able to cope with it. But first they would have to cope with what their night-shift colleagues would say.

THE END.


End file.
